I'll See You At Summerslam
by TheVampireLucinda
Summary: Triple H is set to face the newly-returned Brock Lesnar in what will certainly be a brutal match at Summerslam. However, things take a turn for the worse when Lesnar and Heyman drag a certain Heartbreaker into the mix. Will Hunter be able to protect the man he loves? And will Shawn be able to deal with being protected at all? Slash! Violence! Language! Rated M! Complete!
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **I'll See You At Summerslam

**Author:** TheVampireLucinda

**Featuring:** Shawn Michaels/Triple H; Brock Lesnar, Paul Heyman

**Disclaimer: **Slash! Violence! Language! Rated M!

**Summary: **Triple H is set to face the newly-returned Brock Lesnar in what will certainly be a brutal match at Summerslam. However, things take a turn for the worse when Lesnar and Heyman drag a certain Heartbreaker into the mix. Will Hunter be able to protect the man he loves? And will Shawn be able to deal with being protected at all?

_A/N: Seriously, those two...Even in retirement, Shawn manages to steal the show! And Hunter's eyes tell such a story when he's in the ring with the Heartbreak Kid...I can't help it, haha. I can not resist writing about those two!_

* * *

The large, muscular man with cold eyes and an even colder smile towered over the shorter, skinnier blond, leering down mercilessly at his soon-to-be victim.

"Shawn...The only reason you _think_ Triple H can beat me...is because you've never been in the ring with me."

A short pause, and the arena filled with sudden tension. No one could guess the former UFC fighter's intentions, least of all the man who had already declared that this behemoth would lose in his upcoming grudge match.

However, two simple words made everything painfully clear, and a collective shudder ran down the spines of everyone in earshot, especially a certain man in the back, who had been watching the scene in the ring unfold, waiting anxiously to see if things would escalate.

"Until now."

He began to slowly advance on the lithe Heartbreaker, loving the growing fear in those deep blue eyes as he instinctively began to back away from the obvious threat.

Even the bold, fearless Mr. Wrestlemania licked his lips nervously, holding a hand out in front of him in some sort of attempt of defense.

They both knew how this would end.

As if on cue, however, before blood could be shed and bones broken, the monstrous man's primary opponent appeared, walking hurriedly and grimly to the ring to stand by his best friend.

Correction: To stand in _front_ of his best friend.

Protecting him.

'Gotcha, Hunter.'

With a devilish laugh, Brock Lesnar looked back and forth between the two men, his ice blue eyes dancing with bad intentions. He lifted one finger and pointed at Triple H.

"I'll see _you_ at Summerslam!" he vowed, expression hardening and grin fading. He honestly and truly wanted to hurt this man, this arrogant bastard who called himself the King of Kings.

However, he could not prevent a slow smile from taking his lips as he unexpectedly pointed to the obviously shaken Shawn Michaels.

"And you...Yeah, _you_." His smile widened.

"I'll see you before then."

Shawn and Hunter's expressions were a cascade of painful and powerful emotions.

Uncertainty.

Fear.

Anger.

Love.

And as far as Brock Lesnar was concerned, the match was already half-won.

* * *

Shawn Michaels sighed heavily, arms folded tight as he watched Triple H pace the floor of his office. They had just made it into the back from the ring, and the entire time they were both on edge, Lesnar's threat hanging heavily in the air over them both.

Though he would never admit it out loud, Shawn had a sinking suspicion that this was what it felt like waiting for an execution.

Hunter was even more upset than Shawn, even going so far as to lock the door behind them, and place a chair in front of the knob, jamming it from the inside.

"Hunt, I'll be _fine_," Shawn promised for the fifth time in ten minutes, feeling anger swell in his heart even as the fear subsided.

They both knew what Lesnar was doing: he was using Shawn to get to Triple H. He obviously knew that the two men were far more than friends, and that to attack one was to draw the wrath of the other. He was risking facing a Game blind with rage by threatening Shawn, but he was also opening the opportunity to throw the Cerebral Assassin completely off his game.

The question was, just what exactly did he plan on doing...if he'd do anything at all.

"I don't want to take that chance," Hunter explained, worry furrowing his brow and darkening his brown eyes. "Lesnar and Heyman are nuts, and _will_ fight dirty..."

He stopped pacing long enough to notice that Shawn, still sitting atop his desk, was very quiet.

Which meant that he was also very angry.

"Shawn..."

"I'm not some frail flower to be protected," HBK said in a low tone, though his voice was steady and determined. "You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself."

Knowing that he could never sway Shawn by horror stories, Triple H knelt by the desk, leaning his forehead against his best-friend-and-lover's knee.

If Shawn wouldn't listen to Hunter's reason, than maybe, just maybe, he'd listen to Hunter's heart.

The proud Showstopper seemed to soften a little at the gesture, and eventually ran a hand through Hunter's long, golden hair.

"I know you don't need me to protect you...or want me to," the Game acknowledged in a low voice. "But please, until this is over...Please don't leave my side. Lesnar is dangerous, and I'm scared as hell just imagining what he might do to you..." He swallowed hard. "He hates me, Shawn, and I know he'll do anything to hurt me...even hurt you...badly..."

HHH looked up at Shawn with pleading brown eyes, eyes that were already misting with tears. The Showstopper's face revealed nothing, but his blue eyes were soft and compassionate. He was listening.

"I couldn't forgive myself if he hurt you because of me...Please, please, let me protect you!"

Shawn was quiet for a long moment. Then, with a small smile, he climbed off the desk and embraced Hunter warmly, pulling the younger man's head against his middle.

"This is ridiculous...You begging me—on your knees, no less—to let you protect me. It's almost comical." He raised a finger when his younger lover began to protest. "But, I understand that there's nothing funny about this situation." His eyes grew hard as he spoke.

"You'll have to give me time to think, Hunt...But, in the meantime, I'll stay by your side. After all, I got myself involved in all this because I know you'll win. I know you'll beat Lesnar...and..."

Now _Shawn_ knelt down, coming eye-to-eye with Triple H. He leaned forward until their foreheads were touching, eyes, noses, and lips just barely brushing against one another's.

"Hunter...You keep talking about protecting me, but...Can you find it in your heart to forgive _me_ for not protecting _you_?"

HHH blinked in confusion. "What?"

"That bastard broke your arm not too long ago...I should have been here..." Shawn sighed deeply. "If I'm honest, I threw myself into your match not just because I know you can win...but also so that I could protect you...if you happen to need me, that is."

Hunter was stunned for a long moment, and then broke into a wide smile. "Shawn...You're insane." He leaned back and sat on his tush, throwing his arms behind him for support. His brown eyes glittered as he looked at the man he loved more than anyone else in the world. "I _knew_ you'd get involved somehow!"

Shawn grinned and shrugged. "Heck, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you take on that monster all on your own?" With a mischievous laugh, he crawled over to Hunter, gently pushing the blond onto his back on the carpeted floor before nimbly straddling his waist. He lowered his head so that their lips just briefly touched, that oh-so-familiar electric shock going through them both at the teasing contact.

"And I'd be an even worse boyfriend if I didn't say hello properly after all this time."

* * *

While the two members of Degeneration X enjoyed one another's company, Brock Lesnar sat alone in his hotel room. He shooed Paul Heyman away right after the show had ended, and now he had several hours to himself to think.

Which was just the right amount of time to begin dreaming up ways to torture Shawn Michaels...and, by extension, Triple H too.

"Oh, you sexy little Heartbreaker," Brock growled as he lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Should I break your think little arm like I did to your stupid blond lover?

"Nah, that was _way_ too quick...I'm gonna make you suffer, Shawn, make you scream and cry out for Hunter, and he's not going to be able to help you."

A satisfied smile curled on Lesnar's face and he played through several scenarios in his head. In one, he had Shawn helpless, pinned to the ground, and wrenching the older man's bad back in a wicked submission move. In another, Shawn was cowering against the ropes, all pretense of bravery and defiance gone as a large shadow fell over his small form. His golden-brown hair hung loose, and partially covered his handsome face. His bottom lip quivered.

With a gasp, Brock sat up in bed, more than a little surprised to find that he had a raging hard on. He stared at it uncomprehendingly for several moments before shrugging.

"Huh."

Almost non-nonchalantly, he slipped a huge hand into his boxers, grasping his large, aching cock firmly as he lay back down.

Now he was almost fevered in his fantasy. He imagined tearing off Shawn's shirt, and then his pants, stripping the sexy Heartbreak Kid naked in front of his bound lover, who struggled against his bonds. Brock reveled in how Hunter would curse him, and then, at last, beg him to let Shawn go.

To no avail, of course.

As the former UFC champion stroked himself harder and faster, his mind now created an image of Shawn, completely bare, with tears in his terrified blue eyes, as Brock twisted and tortured every limb that he could—arms, legs, back, neck—at last leaving the Hall of Famer in a broken heap on the floor.

In the fantasy, Shawn's left eye had been swollen shut, and his lip split, no doubt the result of his attempts to fight back.

Laughing in his imaginings and in reality, hand furiously working his now rock-hard manhood, Brock leaned forward in his fantasy and kissed those swollen, bloodied lips, hearing Hunter scream, and feeling Shawn tremble as he ran his hand down the length of HBK's body, lingering at the nipples on his hairy chest, and at last going down and gripping his limp dick, squeezing it painfully.

From his corner, still tied up tightly, Hunter had gone very silent. And, when Brock looked over, he noticed the tears that spilled from the overly-large brown eyes.

"Ah, God dammit," Lesnar growled through clenched teeth, eyes squeezing shut as he came hard in his own hand, white fluid coating his palm and stomach.

'Of all the things to set me off...Shawn Michael's pain, and Hunter Hearst Helmsley's tears.'

It took several moments for his mind to clear, for the images to fade, and as he at last came down from his erotic high, the monstrous man still had a sick, lopsided smile on his face.

"Shit," he mumbled, climbing off the bed and heading into the bathroom.

"I didn't even get to raping them."

* * *

_O.o Scary! He's being so scary! Be careful Shawn!_

_Anyway, I'm curious to see how this story will play out on TV...I'm going to stick as close to it as I can...unless it becomes stupid, which I highly doubt, because of Shawn and Hunter..._

_Review?_


	2. Chapter 2

_So yeah, RAW... (shocked expression) It was so emotional, almost overwhelmingly so. Shawn, Hunter, and, yes, even Brock, put on one hell of a show. And, trying to write what they did...Ridiculous! But I guess I'll make my attempt...Thank you all for the reviews, the favs, etc. I have no idea where this story is going...It's in the boys' hands..._

_Anyway, this chapter is the pre-RAW stuff, because I had to fill in some gaps, and such..._

* * *

_Sunday Night, 10:30pm_

Shawn Michaels stood under the steaming hot water of the shower, closing his eyes as the droplets dripped from his hair and down his face, following a path down his neck, to strong, straight shoulders; from there, they slid down a toned chest, and a tight stomach, all the way down to his lithe legs and feet.

He sighed, trying to let the smoldering anger that had built up in him over the week slide down the drain the water.

It wasn't working.

All week, ever since Lesnar's threat, Hunter had been watching him like a hawk. Though the Game tried to be discreet, and generally stay out of Shawn's way, the Heartbreak Kid knew that his best friend and lover was never very far away, always within shouting distance, and constantly on edge.

It was driving Shawn crazy.

While, of course, he didn't mind them sleeping in the same bed, going out to dinner, and even heading into bathroom stalls together (which earned them more than a few odd looks from fans), it was _really_ starting to grate on his nerves when every time he turned around, Triple H was there.

Hunter, characteristically, had been apologetic the entire time, begging Shawn to understand. He explained his fears more than once to his older lover, even going so far as to admit that he'd been having nightmares of what Lesnar might want to do to Shawn, should they ever be separated.

Shawn, for his part, was not unsympathetic; he especially felt for Hunter concerning the bad dreams, because he had woken up one night to find his lover shivering in his sleep, whispering Shawn's name brokenly.

Swallowing a few tears of his own, Shawn reached over and brushed back several loose, blond strands of Triple H's hair.

"I'll always be safe with you by my side," he whispered consolingly, repeating the words he had told the younger man so long ago, back before they had even become lovers. After all, Hunter had started off as someone eager and ready to fulfill the role of "bodyguard" for the then-much-disliked Heartbreak Kid.

'I should be used to him watching over me by now,' Shawn had scolded himself with a small smile. 'He worries so much about me because he loves me...'

However, by Sunday evening, he'd had enough.

Which is why, after stepping out of the shower, Shawn felt rage rise in his chest before he even made it into his room.

"Leave me alone, Hunt!" Shawn found himself yelling as he turned on his heel to face the startled man who had been walking only a few steps behind him. "I just got out of the shower, and I'm going to bed! LEAVE. ME. ALONE."

Triple H's eyes were wide as saucers. He hadn't expected Shawn to flip out on him so violently, so suddenly.

"Shawn, what-?" He reached out to take his beloved by the arms, honestly and genuinely confused. "What did I do?"

Shawn exhaled angrily. "Nothing! You haven't done anything _wrong_, I just..." He took a deep breath. "Hunter, you've got to give me some space. I love you, and I love being with you; but you've been following me around the house ever since last Monday! You have to take a break! Lesnar's probably no where near us, and he sure as heck isn't going to come bursting into your house..."

Gently, Shawn slid out from between the Game's strong grip, taking a step to the side.

"I'll be okay here; and we'll probably get to Summerslam without a single incident, right? Lesnar and Heyman are all talk. I trust you, and I'm not afraid of this guy. I know I'll be safe."

Hunter sighed, and looked down at the floor. "You say that Shawn, but...I'm not sure if I can protect you..." He knew that he had to tread softly here, because if there's one thing Shawn hated, it was being taken care of.

"I don't doubt that you can handle yourself. Not for an instant. Hell, if you ran into Heyman and Lesnar, you'd probably hold your own." He lifted his eyes, looking directly into Shawn's.

"But only in a _fair fight_. Lesnar is sick, I can see it in his eyes, Shawn. He _liked_ breaking my arm. He takes pleasure in causing pain...I have no doubt that he'll play dirty, sneak up on you...Hell, he might even crawl out from under the ring or something to get you, and then we're both fucked, because if I can't get to you in time..."

Shawn's blue eyes narrowed to slits. "I told you; I'm not afraid of him. If anyone should be afraid of him, it's you!" Now Hunter's eyes narrowed. "_You're_ the one set to face him in a match in a few Sundays! If anyone's going to get hurt, it's you!"

"Dammit, Shawn, don't you get it! He'll hurt you to hurt me! That's the _worse_ way to hurt me, and he knows it! If anything happens to you-" He broke off, turning angrily from Shawn to hide the injured look he knew had come to his face.

"I'm sorry, I just don't want to see you get hurt. It would kill me, man. And my gut keeps telling me that Brock isn't far away, and just waiting to get you alone. I'm _afraid_ Shawn. For both of us."

For a moment, Shawn's hard expression softened. He took a few steps forward, wrapping his arms around Triple H's waist from behind, resting his head against the strong, muscled back.

"I know Hunt...I'm a little afraid too," the Heartbreak Kid admitted, grip tightening slightly. "But I'm not gonna let it show, and I'm definitely not gonna let Lesnar or Heyman know it." He managed a small smile. "Besides, I've got you, right?"

The Game sighed for what had to be the millionth time that week. "Shawn, please; this is serious...This isn't the time to be proud, or over-confident, or stupidly brave-"

A hard shove ended Hunter's sentence before he could complete it, and faster than he could turn around, he heard the sound of angry footsteps and a door slamming, followed by the distinctive click of a lock.

"Real mature Shawn," he mumbled, more than a little pissed off. "Real mature, buddy. Just go ahead and lock yourself in a damn room!" He stomped over to the door, voice rising with every step. "You know what, fine! Stay in there! Just make sure that you're up in time to catch the damn plane!"

"I don't need you to wake me up!"

"Yes you do!"

"Whatever!"

Hunter huffed and kicked open the door a room down the hallway.

"You're such a Diva!" he called back to Shawn, who could without a doubt hear through the heavy door.

"And you're a meat head!"

"Whatever! Goodnight!"

"Goodnight!"

* * *

From the safety of his perch in a nearby tree, Brock Lesnar chuckled.

Though he couldn't hear anything from this distance, through his binoculars, he could discern that the tense lovers had gotten into some sort of argument—most likely related to him, he hoped.

With a sideways smile he licked his dry lips, anticipating at last getting his hands on Shawn Michaels tomorrow night on RAW. He had watched the man all week, thinking of ways to make him scream, and at last settled on what he deemed a certain poetic, tragic end for the Heartbreak Kid.

And poor Hunter...How he'd suffer!

Brock jumped nimbly out of the tree, landing silently in the grass. He had a plane to catch tonight, in order to get to the arena nice and early tomorrow morning...

"Damn, again?!" he growled, looking down at the hardness he felt between his legs. It had become almost something of an involuntary reflex: every time he thought about hurting Triple H or Shawn, his dick would turn into a rock. He wasn't even entirely sure why, but suspected that it was a combination of the fact that, while both men defied him, they also feared him...and knew that he'd hurt them.

And, truly, hurt them he would.

Starting with Shawn Michaels tomorrow night.

Once again licking his lips, Lesnar made his way back to the main road, where he'd parked his car amongst a bunch of bushes and low-hanging trees.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Heartbreak Kid," he whispered, blowing a kiss towards the now-dark home.

"You too, Hunter. I can't _wait_ to see you."

* * *

_Monday Morning, 10:00am _

Shawn woke up early, turning off his phone before the alarm could ring. As quietly as he could, he showered, got dressed, and packed his bags, pleased that he could still hear Hunter's uneven snores coming from the other room.

"See you at the arena," he whispered, unknowingly mimicking Lesnar as he blew a soft kiss in the direction of the sleeping Game.

Feeling bold and rebellious, Shawn slipped into his car, smiling confidently as he sped off towards the airport terminal. He was determined to prove to Hunter that he worrying excessively, and that nothing was going to happen to either of them between now and Summerslam.

In fact, he made it all the way to the airport without an incident, and was feeling pretty good about things as he took his bags out of the trunk and handed them to an airline assistant.

Indeed, things _were_ going fine...until Shawn noticed a small note resting on the backseat of his car.

"What in the world...?"

Hands shaking, the Heartbreak Kid picked up the little piece of paper, face paling and heart pounding as he read the words scrawled on it in a suspicious red ink that could have very well been blood.

_You used to book people for a stay at the Heartbreak Hotel back in the day. _

_Well, I've taken the liberty of reserving a special room for you, tonight: A couple weeks stay in the wonderful hospital in downtown Dallas._

_ I wonder what Hunter thinks of me and you spending an evening together..._

_ See you tonight, Shawn!_

His entire body trembling with fear and rage, Shawn crushed the note in his hands.

"Are...Are you alright, Sir?" the attendant asked, concern clearly evident on his face.

Shawn shook his head.

"No...I'm not..."

Hunter reached over and smashed his alarm the moment it went off, groaning as he opened his eyes to the bright sunlight. It had taken him a while to fall asleep last night; and when he finally did, he didn't rest well, worried that sometime terrible would happen to Shawn, even in his own damn house.

But he was determined to shake those thoughts from his mind. Shawn was right, they couldn't let fear rule them, and they certainly couldn't let their enemies see that. Their love for one another had landed them into trouble before...

"Shawn, time to get up!" Triple H called, knocking on the door of Shawn's room as he shuffled off to take a shower. "Shawn?"

Slightly annoyed, he turned the handle, surprised to find it unlocked. Feeling his heart leap into his throat, he opened the door and, for a moment, his greatest fears were confirmed when he saw that the bed was _empty_.

"Oh shit, oh shit," he said over and over, turning over the messy covers, looking everywhere for any trace of where Shawn might have gone.

Or...where he could have been taken.

Fortunately for Hunter's sanity, he found a note left to him from Shawn on the bedside table. It was short—_Went to the airport, see you at the show! Love you!—_and the Game simultaneously wanted to cry with relief and punch Shawn right in the face.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING, SHAWN MICHAELS?!" he yelled, storming out of the room, forgoing his shower, throwing on a suit, packing only one bag, and running out to his car, noting that Shawn's was indeed gone.

As far as he could see, Shawn was safe and unharmed.

For now.

But that didn't slow him down for a moment as he drove as quickly as he could to the airport, heart still beating as fiercely as it ever had.

'Please, please, please be okay, Shawn...Let me get there in time...'

* * *

_Next chapter up tomorrow after I get home from work! I just have to clean it up and proofread! I just wanted to fill in some of the in-between things here, and answer a few questions (like why the HELL Hunter wasn't there at Raw at the same time as Shawn, etc.). _

_I want the RAW scene(s) to be written perfectly, so sorry it has taken so long!_

_In the meantime...Review? _


	3. Chapter 3

_Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry this is so late...I was supposed to have it up Friday night, but things got a little hectic...In any case, I'm also sorry that this chapter is so long...There were many segments throughout the night, plus interviews with Shawn, Hunter, and Brock on that I had to incorporate, along with the main segments. It was really fun, though, because sometimes I was type something, and the real-life counterparts would say something similar (especial RealShawn. He needs to get out of my head!). _

_Anway, hope you all enjoy! _

* * *

_Monday Night RAW, 8:00pm_

Shawn wandered around the backstage area, unsure if he should be hiding, or if he even _could_ hide.

Lesnar's note had shaken him, badly, and the knowledge that that man was in this very arena caused a chill to run down his spine every few minutes. Over and over in his head, he could hear Hunter's warnings, and he was starting to regret not only coming to the show on his own, but getting involved in the match in the first place.

Now, he simply walked the dark halls, silently praying that Lesnar wouldn't catch him alone.

Thankfully, he wasn't _often_ alone, as there were always people milling around in the back, some working on the pyro, some readying costumes, and so on.

Of course, none of them could do a thing if Lesnar decided to come get him right now.

And where in the world was Hunter?!

Unable to take it anymore, Shawn stopped one of the tech guys in mid-step.

"Look," he said frankly, ignoring the slightly star-struck look on the kid's face."I'm trying to be cool about this, but I need to know if you've seen Hunter or not."

The confused young man shook his head. "No...no, I haven't..."

Inwardly, Shawn swore. "Okay, well, if you do—Can you do me a favor? Let me know if you do...This is real important...Don't tell him I'm looking for him...Just...tell him to find me if you see him, okay?"

"Okay..."

"Alright, thanks."

Frowning, and unable to completely conceal his growing worry, Shawn continued his walk down the hallway, carefully watching every shadow as he passed it.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

"Goddammit!" Triple H growled, scaring the poor flight attendants as they informed him that the only plane tickets they had left were commercial flights.

"I have to get to an arena in Dallas by 8:00 tonight!"

The terrified man at a nearby desk punched some numbers into his computer. "I'm sorry, sir, but your flight has been delayed because of the weather...the earliest we can get you there is 10:00pm, and that'll be on a regular, commercial flight..."

Hunter slammed his fists hard on the desk, startling the attendant out of his skin. His brown eyes were blazing.

"That might be too late!"

* * *

Rowdy Roddy Piper had been more or less talking to himself this whole time, he realized all at once, looking curiously at the man in front of him.

The Heartbreak Kid was the perfect picture of worry, eyes uncharacteristically downcast, finger nervously picking at his perfect pink lips.

"Shawn?"

As though just realizing that someone else was in the room, Shawn looked up, startled. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm just...distracted."

Piper smiled sympathetically. "Yeah, I'd be a little intimidated too if I had to fight Brock Lesnar..."

Shawn's normally fearless eyes grew wide. "Intimidated? I'm not..." He suddenly felt defensive. "_I'm_ not fighting Brock Lesnar! I'm not the one..."

All of a sudden, his phone began to ring, and the Showstopper's heart stopped.

Did he dare tell Roddy, tell _anyone_, that Lesnar had apparently been stalking him? Had come close enough to him and Hunter to leave a little note in his car promising to send him to the hospital tonight...and perhaps worse?

'No, I can take care of myself,' the proud Heartbreaker thought, steeling himself. 'If Brock wants to call my phone, and play head games, I'll show him a thing or two about getting under an opponent's skin!'

When he looked up again at Roddy, his voice was calm. "Hold on, let me take this," he excused himself, lifting the small device to his ear.

"Better you than me," Piper muttered as he walked away, shaking his head.

"Hello...Yeah...Yes..." Relief flooded through Shawn at the sound of Hunter's voice, followed by a surge of vulnerable anger. "_Where are you_?!"

Hunter barely got any words out before Shawn launched into an angry tirade:

"What?! Of all the times you decide to fly commercial, Mr. Big Wig...You do on _tonight_?! You _need_ to be here!" He stopped himself just before saying what he really felt.

_I need you here!_

Instead, Shawn found that it was easier being angry than scared. "Look, look, this isn't my fight, alright? I don't even know why I'm in this!"

Shawn hated admitting that he was worried, upset...and yes, even a little scared, but judging by Hunter's voice, he was feeling even worse, wherever he was.

"Well, you need to be here, and you need to be here _now._ Later does me no good. Fine...fine! Fine! Alright, bye."

Shawn sighed, trying to hold back his growing unease, but couldn't keep the worry from face, nor the beginnings of real fear from darkening his blue eyes.

"Later," he muttered to himself, looking down at his phone before slipping it angrily back into his pocket.

"You'll be here later, huh?"

Getting pissed off and leaving home without Hunter was suddenly starting to seem like an _extremely_ bad idea.

* * *

_Monday Night Raw, 9:30pm_

About half the night was over, and Shawn was surprised that he hadn't been attacked. He had not seen even the faintest trace of Lesnar or Heyman, and as of this moment remained completely unharmed.

'For now...'

Still very much on edge, the Heartbreak Kid continued to walk around the backstage area, never sitting down, avoiding dark corners as every muscle in his body pulled taut, ready to fight and/or escape.

'I feel like I'm being hunted!'

Sighing, Shawn walked over to one of the many tables lined with drinks, and picked up a bottle of water. As he unscrewed the cap, his mind began to wander, blue eyes going slightly out of focus.

'Lesnar could put me through this table easily,' he found himself thinking morosely. 'God, I hope he doesn't break anything when he-'

A large hand suddenly gripped Shawn's shoulder, and with a gasp he whirled around, eyes wide and heart bursting.

"Whoa! Hey!"

It was Cena, who looked equally startled, holding his hands up in front of him defensively. He had the distinct sense that Shawn had come close to nailing him good right in the nose.

Shawn let the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding out slowly. "Sorry, John," he mumbled, sounding as exhausted as he felt.

"You okay?" Cena asked, bright blue eyes radiating concern. He was genuinely worried about the Heartbreak Kid. It was a well known fact in the WWE that he was in love with Shawn, and the last thing he wanted to see was the man he loved get hurt.

However, he also knew better than to involve himself in matters that concerned Shawn _and_ Hunter. Last time he did that, the Game threatened to shove a sledgehammer up his ass the next time the young upstart dared even loon to long at Shawn.

Shawn, however, was unaware of all of this, and simply shook his head. "Yeah, yeah," he answered half-heartedly. "I'm just...distracted. Just...distracted." He gave the younger man a tired nod as a goodbye as he walked away.

Cena watched him go, and shook his head.

Sometimes he wondered why things had to be so damn awful at times.

* * *

The moment passengers were allowed off the plane, Hunter was in a dead sprint down the walkway, snatching his bags from the conveyor belt, and nearly running over several unfortunate travelers as he passed.

He didn't wait to flag down a taxi; he chased down the closest one, threw the door open and jumped inside.

"I need to get to the arena in Dallas," he explained breathlessly. "And I need to get there as quickly as humanly possible!"

The driver turned around, started at the size of this man. Recognition flashed in his light-colored eyes.

"Hey, you're Triple H!" he said excitedly, tearing out of the airport parking lot at breakneck speeds. He even turned the corner so sharply that Hunter was thrown hard against the door opposite his original seat.

"Sorry," the cabbie apologize with a shy smile. The Game shook his head.

"No, no, this is good..." He looked down at his watch. The night was more than halfway over, and he had no idea if Shawn was okay or not.

Though not a praying man (he usually left that part up to Shawn), Hunter closed his eyes, folded his hands, and whispered up to whatever hopefully-benevolent power existed in the sky.

"Please, please let Shawn be okay."

* * *

Shawn's spirits were sinking lower and lower as he checked around every dark corner for his invisible foe.

The night was almost over, but he was in hell. His time was running out, he knew; Hunter wasn't here yet, and he could _feel_ Brock watching him from the shadows. The contract signing was coming up, and he knew that Lesnar would most likely strike before then, to goad Hunter into an even more deadly match.

Which, of course, the Game would accept in a love-fueled rage.

'I've put us both in danger,' Shawn thought sadly, shaking his head, blue eyes misting. 'I might get killed tonight, but Hunter will get himself killed too trying to avenge me at Summerslam...'

He anxiously checked around another corner, exhaling when, as each time before, no one was there waiting.

'I wished I'd listened to him, and I wish this game would end!' he thought, lowering his head before turning around...

...And coming face-to-chest with Brock Lesnar.

Shawn's heart stopped beating completely, and he was actually surprised that he didn't faint dead away as his eyes met the cold blue orbs of the monster standing in front of him.

Their bodies were so close that Shawn could feel the heat radiating off Lesnar's skin. The eyes that appraised him now were hungry and cold.

They stared at one another for a long moment, predator and prey at last meeting in the darkened backstage area. Lesnar's huge arms were folded across his broad chest, and he didn't blink once as he stared the trembling Heartbreak Kid down.

Shawn waited, and waited, for what seemed like an eternity, for Lesnar to hit him. Those light eyes that held him captive danced with madness, and the terrified blond accepted the fact that he probably wasn't going to make it a single inch before Brock tore his head off.

Still, instinctively, Shawn took a slow step back, never breaking eye contact with the monstrous man. First one, and then another, putting an arm's length of distance between them.

And yet, even now...Brock did not move. He only continued to silently stare, unnerving Shawn all the more as he increased the amount of space between them.

'What's wrong with him?!' Shawn was thinking angrily, desperately. 'Does he want to chase me, or something?! Why is he letting me go?!'

He could read clearly in Brock's eyes that he _wasn't_ being let go, of course; he was just being allowed to escape.

For now.

Turning on his heel, heart beating once again and fit to burst out of his chest, Shawn ran down the hallway as quickly as he could. He half-expected to hear heavy footsteps in pursuit...but they never came. He made it into a small room—someone's office, he figured—and locked the door behind him, trying to catch his breath and calm his nerves.

He hated this game! Now, not only did he reveal his terror—_yes, terror, I'm beyond scared!_—but it was clear that he wasn't even Lesnar's true target! He was going to get hurt simply because he dared to stand by his best friend against a monster! It wasn't fair!

He understood this now because, when Lesnar had looked into his eyes, Shawn could see that the man couldn't care less that he was looking at him, and saw only a tool to get to Hunter.

Even worse, there was something _else_ in those crystalline eyes that went beyond any match, beyond any normal intimidation or mind games.

If he thought about it too long, he could again hear Lesnar's heavy breathing, the involuntary twitch of the monster's eyes as he took in the sight of Shawn's entire body.

Yes, the Heartbreak Kid knew that look very well; and whenever someone looked at him that way, things never ended nicely for Shawn Michaels.

Standing on the precipice of a panic attack, Shawn leaned his back against a wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor, his knees tucked against his chest.

"Hunter, where are you?!"

* * *

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

Triple H was furious as bumper-to-bumper traffic greeted him and the taxi driver just as the arena came into view on the horizon. So close...

"I'm sorry; the city must be super-crowded because of...the event tonight..."

"How far away are we?"

The driver did some quick calculations in his head. "About 5 or 10 minutes?" he estimated.

"Thanks."

Without another word, Hunter handed the man a large wad of money, gave him a quick nod, and then jumped out of the taxi, determined to run the rest of the way if that would get him there faster.

* * *

Scared or not, Shawn Michaels still had his pride.

After (successfully) enduring Heyman's challenge to come out to the ring, hearing that slime ball call him a coward with a yellow streak was the last straw.

Lesnar or no Lesnar, the Heartbreak Kid was not going to be shown to be a coward tonight, even if it meant that he was walking straight to his own demise.

"It looks like he's going to the gallows," King noted from the announcer table, as worried as everyone else in the arena.

Brock smiled widely as Shawn approached, even shaking Paul Heyman's hand, silently thanking him for drawing out his prey once more.

Hesitantly, Shawn climbed into the ring, forcing himself to breathe deeply as he made sure to keep the large, wooden table between himself and the monster who continued to leer at him.

Lesnar's sick smile only widened, and he folded his arms casually, leaning back against the ropes as Heyman invited Shawn to speak. Cautiously, Shawn reached over and started to pick it up. His blue eyes quickly scanned over the contract.

"You can sign for him, go ahead," Heyman said suddenly, smiling at the annoyed look Shawn gave him. "I'll accept it, go ahead."

Shawn stared between the two men, eyes narrowing and heart pounding as the pieces of their sick plot fell into place and became clear to him.

They were going to make _him_ sign the contract, the near-guarantee of Hunter's destruction! And then, no doubt, they'd beat the holy hell out of Shawn, leaving Hunter stuck with no support, a dangerous match, and uncontrollable rage.

'They're sick!' Shawn thought with wide eyes, taking in the sight of the _two_ monsters he stood in front of. 'Hunter was right! This is more than just a match! Lesnar really wants to hurt him...'

Though he knew that the consequences would probably be an even worse beating, Shawn let his hands fall limply to his sides.

_I'm not going to do it_, his eyes said as he stared at Lesnar. _You're not going to make me hurt Hunter like this. _

Brock seemed to understand the look, and nodded.

He took a few steps forward and unfolded his large arms. Now it was his turn to send Shawn a very clear look.

_Then I guess you know what comes now, Heartbreaker._

Shawn instinctively began to back away, knowing he wouldn't get far even_ if_ he ran, and decided not to run at all.

'Just get it over with,' he thought, trying to steel himself for whatever was to come. 'I'm so sorry, Hunter...'

_Time to play the Game..._

In the nick of time, Triple H's music hit, and Shawn felt a rush of relief mixed with mild annoyance.

Sweating, and having just caught his breath, Hunter made his way down to the ring, taking off the too-warm suit jacket and unbuttoning several of the top buttons.

Shawn's muscles, tense the entire night, at last began to relax. He was safe.

Still, the look in Lesnar's eyes gave him pause; the way he was looking at Hunter now was the same way he had looked at Shawn before.

Hunter climbed slowly into the ring, staring down Lesnar, all of the frustration and anger that had built up from his flight radiating from his eyes. When Brock took several steps towards him, the Game didn't back down an inch.

They stared at once another for a long moment, neither man blinking. Hunter slowly reached down and grabbed the pen and the contract, still keeping his brown eyes on Brock's menacing form. He could feel Shawn's closeness as he signed the form, determined to put an end to all this bullshit at Summerslam.

A slow smile made its way back to Lesnar's face as he took the contract and signed it as well. With a laugh, he threw the papers and the clipboard at Triple H, almost gleefully hopping out of the ring with Heyman.

He walked around the ring, circling the pair inside, a small thrill of pleasure shooting through his spine as Triple H stood in front of Shawn when Brock leered at the smaller man.

In fact, for a moment, Hunter was mad enough to fight Lesnar now, but Shawn grabbed his best friend's wrist lightly, pleadingly, and the Game grew still. They turned to face one another, speaking in low tones so that no one else could hear.

'Love is so beautiful,' Brock thought with a laugh as he made his way to the back.

'Too bad I have to fuck up its face tonight.'

* * *

Shawn and Hunter now stood in the back together, eyes only on one another after the stressful night they both endured.

"I'm so sorry," Hunter was saying over and over again. "I'm so sorry, man. I wanted to be here earlier..."

Shawn shook his head. "No, no, it's okay, I understand." He sighed. "Look, there's something I need to get off my chest."

Triple H fiddled with his shirt cuff nervously, quietly listening.

"I've been in the ring with you, with Undertaker...I've been in this ring with the toughest in the world...But this guy..." He pointed towards the ring, indicating Lesnar. "Brock...he's on a whole different level, okay?"

Hunter raised an eyebrow, a small but bitter smile forming on his lips. "So...What are you saying, Shawn? That I can't win?"

"I'm not saying that," Shawn answered calmly, understanding very well Hunter's feelings. "I'm just saying that I'm going to be there for you, in your corner. But you...You and you alone are going to have to beat him. Alright?"

Now Triple H was the one feeling slighted, as though his ability to take care of himself was being called into question.

He didn't like it.

"Shawn, I _got_ this guy, alright," he answered firmly. "I mean, I just-"

"Look," HBK interrupted, holding up his hands. "I'm just telling you." He looked in Hunter's brown eyes. "You know my heart is in this."

Triple H managed a small nod, understanding very well how Shawn was feeling, and yet a little hurt by the apparent lack of confidence.

Shawn gave him a nod and a wave, heading for the car, and back to home, and Hunter exhaled, watching the man he loved walk down to the garage. At least he was leaving the arena, and headed back to the safety of their home.

'Have faith in me, Shawn,' he thought with another sigh.

'Because I need you too.'

* * *

The loud screech of tires, the piercing honking of horns.

Shawn was in shock for only a moment as he realized how close he had come to hitting Paul Heyman, who had pulled out in front of him as he tried to leave the parking garage.

Of course, the instant the shock passed, Shawn Michaels was _pissed_.

"Get out of the way!" he yelled, leaning out his window and pointing accusingly as Heyman apologized. "Get out of my way! You know exactly what you're doing!"

"Shawn, I'm sorry!"

"Get out of my-"

"I told you I was gonna getcha!"

Before he could even register that another voice had entered the chaos, Shawn felt huge arms lock around his neck as someone with incredible strength dragged him from the window of his car.

He panicked and clawed at whoever was cutting off his air supply, crying out in shock as he caught a glimpse of Brock's face moments before his own head was slammed hard into the side of the car.

Pain exploded through his entire head, and his very brain felt shaken as he was rammed into the hood again and again. The sound of the metal crumpling under his head was as bad as the pain itself.

Finally, in a burst of light and glass and bright red blood, Shawn saw and felt his skull smash into the windshield, shattering it.

Heyman and Lesnar were yelling things at him, but he could not longer comprehend the words through the pain and haze. He was losing consciousness quickly, and wondered distantly if any permanent damage had been done. As the darkness closed in around him, the one thing Shawn was grateful for was that it was all, at last, over.

At least, he _thought_ is was over, until a foot, heavy as lead, came crashing down on his lower spine.

"AHH, GOD!" Shawn cried out, paralyzed completely by the fresh burst of agony, mind going blank as pain washed over him in a wave.

Again and again the foot came down, followed by what could only have been a wooden beam breaking across his back as Shawn screamed for all he was worth.

"Tell Triple H," someone was yelling, though Shawn could no longer tell who was speaking, nor could he see through his swollen eyes. He could feel himself being lifted. "That this is just a _taste_..."

One more explosion of pain as he was slammed full onto the hood on the car, and Shawn was thankful for the merciless darkness that rushed up to greet him when he was lifted again.

* * *

Hunter heard the commotion in the garage, and he immediately feared the worst.

For the second time that day he was running, mind racing with images of what could have happened.

The first time, he'd gotten lucky.

This time, however, things were worse than he could have ever imagined.

"Shawn! Shawn!" he yelled, arriving on the scene, and seeing a bunch of concerned looking people standing around like they were lost. "Where's Shawn? Where's...?"

He noticed the car, then. The dented hood. The shattered windshield.

There was blood on the floor.

His heart stopped.

"Oh my God..."

Hunter turned to the people standing around. "What happened?! What happened, guys?!" He was nearly frantic as he rushed over to the General Manager. "What happened? AJ, where's Shawn?" He didn't even try to hide the desperation in his voice.

"Brock took him," she answered nervously.

"Where?!"

"He dragged him away..."

Before she could say anything else, Hunter punched the car in frustration and stormed off, racing to find him before something even more horrible happened, his soul now filled with a deadly combination of pure terror and murderous rage.

* * *

They were in a dark room, and through one, slowly opening eye, Shawn could just barely make out the large form in front of him, and the smaller one that stood not far away. He realized that he had been laid out on something—a table, perhaps?

His whole body hurt, especially his head and his back. He couldn't even be afraid, the pain was so great.

At least, he _thought_ that he couldn't be afraid, until Brock roughly rolled him onto his stomach and tore the band out of his hair.

As the golden-brown strands fell over his shoulders and face, Shawn shuddered deeply as he felt the large man bend down close to him, and heard him inhale the scent of his hair.

Now, Shawn was terrified.

"No...no..." he muttered weakly, earning himself a searing punch in the gut once Brock had rolled him over again so that he was lying on his back once more. As the Heartbreak Kid struggled to catch his breath again, Lesnar continued to run his thick fingers through the wild strands of Shawn's hair, tracing a path from his head and down his neck.

In one violent motion, he ripped open the top of Shawn's shirt, exposing most of the man's chest.

"Stop..."

"You know, Shawn," Brock mused aloud, ignoring the pleas and letting a finger idly flick at one of the pink nipples. "You are as beautiful as I imagined you'd be, like this." He smiled wickedly, sending a shiver over Shawn's skin.

"But, as..._ample_ as your charms are, I don't even really want you." He ran his hand down the length of Shawn's chest, palm coming to rest on his toned stomach.

"Your boyfriend Hunter is the one I want. I've wanted him for a while, now...Not as a lover, really, but as a toy."

Brock's breathing became heavier as he reminisced. "Ah, Shawn, I think even you'd be turned on by how good it felt to break that prick's arm...Feeling him thrash around as I held him...Shit, I'd break every bone in his body if I could have that feeling every day!"

He began to laugh, and Shawn was sure that he was seeing the depths of this man's madness. Through the haze of his pain, his fear reached its climax, and now the only thing he could do was lay there, and wait to see what this unbalanced man would do to him.

"You see, Shawn," Brock continued, both his hands now resting on the Heartbreak Kid's hips, gaze very far away. "Beating up on you is a huge turn on too, I won't lie. But humbling the Great Triple H is a thrill for the _soul_. He's probably going mad, sick with worry trying to find you right now. Hell, if I could see the look on his face at this second, I guarantee I could get off without even touching _you_." He licked his lips as his eyes focused on Shawn once again.

"Still, I shouldn't waste the opportunity, should I?"

Shawn cried out in terror and tried to sit up, but Brock punched him swiftly and precisely in the face, bloodying his nose, splitting his lip, and knocking him out cold. He looked over Shawn's still form for a moment before throwing the blond over his shoulders.

Heyman eyed his charge curiously. "You really don't want him?" he asked. Lesnar shook his head and smiled.

"Not without Hunter watching," he answered simply. "Now, let's get the Princess here out to the ring. Maybe his Knight will come and save him this time."

* * *

Brock was all smiles as he carried his conquered prey to the ring on his shoulders.

As though Shawn weighed nothing, he threw him into the ring, jumping triumphantly onto the apron to gloat. He felt better than he had in months, and knew that Sunday would be the icing on the cake.

He watched with lusting eyes as Shawn squirmed in agony on the mat, completely unable to stand, covered in blood and bruises.

However, the stubborn, surprisingly strong Heartbreak Kid managed to, at last, shakily rise to his feet. For a moment, there seemed to be a glimmer of hope.

Brock gave him a vicious F5 for his troubles, putting the Hall of Famer out of commission for at least the rest of the night.

Maybe even the rest of his life.

Lesnar looked down at Shawn, feeling his own arousal growing stronger as Michaels groaned and rolled around the ring. He burst into pleased laughter as Shawn crawled to his feet, trying to pull himself up by climbing up Brock's own pants.

This was too perfect.

With a cold smile, Brock grabbed Shawn's arm and trapped it in the painful and deadly Kimura Lock.

The same move he used to break Hunter's arm several months ago.

He twisted and wrenched Shawn's arm, trapping it between his own arms and locking his legs around the Heartbreak Kid's narrow waist.

"No, no, God, no..." Shawn was saying over and over again between cries of pain and fear as he struggled to free himself. Brock closed his eyes for a moment to savor the feeling of Shawn struggling against him, praying to be saved from him.

This was even better than he had fantasized.

'Hope you're enjoying the show, Triple H.'

As if on cue, the Game appeared, running as fast as he could down the ramp, expression both murderous and agonized.

"Stop right there!" Heyman yelled, looking squarely into Hunter's fearful eyes. "If you take another step, I swear, he'll break your best friend's arm! Please, please don't make him do it!"

Hunter froze, face a mask of uncertainty as he looked on at Shawn, helpless and trapped in Brock's deadly embrace.

'What the hell am I going to do?!' he thought feverishly, trying to come up with some way, _any_ way he could get Shawn out of there safely. The entire time, his heart and mind blamed him, accused him for not seeing Shawn out of the arena, for not escorting him home personally.

For not protecting the one he loved.

"You do this...!" he started to yell, unable to even finish the sentiment. He was pacing, taking small steps forwards and backwards. He put his hands on the top of his head, the perfect picture of deep distress and swore. His mind was racing as well, but he was coming up with nothing!

'Shawn, I don't know what to do!'

Brock took a moment to savor it all: Shawn's injured and struggling form, their bodies pressed together in a deathlock; Hunter's face, so distressed, his eyes literally _begging_ Brock to release Shawn...The man was obviously near tears.

It was beautiful.

With a smile to Hunter, Lesnar broke Shawn's arm.

He could hear the smaller man scream anew with fresh agony as he ran from the ring, knowing that Triple H was right behind him. The enraged blond did give a brief chase, but he quickly abandoned his instant revenge and rushed into the ring, going to his injured lover.

"Oh, Shawn," he whispered, kneeling over to the Heartbreak Kid, who didn't even notice him because of the pain. "Oh Shawn, I'm so sorry..." He stood up to glare at Lesnar before dropping back down his knees over Shawn's writhing form, now covered in paramedics.

"Shawn...It's going to be alright...It's..." Hunter swallowed hard, his composure slipping more and more with each second, heart breaking into pieces.

"Shawn, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Shawn...Please, I'm so sorry...I'm sorry..."

"GET AWAY FROM ME!"

Stunned, and hurt beyond words, Hunter backed away from Shawn and stood up. A member of the EMT gave him a small shrug, and promised that they'd take care of him, even as Shawn screamed at them to stop touching him.

Hunter glared at Lesnar with red-rimmed eyes.

"Come on!" he yelled, channeling his pain into rage. "Come on! Right now, come on! We don't have to wait! Let's do it now!"

Triple H no longer gave a fuck about Summerslam, about the match.

This was now about revenge, pure and merciless.

Brock had dared to hurt the man Hunter loved. And now the Game was going to pay him back in spades.

* * *

Brock left the arena casually, basking in the afterglow of the perfect execution of his plan tonight. Occasionally, as he walked out the front door, he would catch the looks of fear that the other wrestlers stared at him with, could see the disbelief in their eyes as they beheld the man who dared to attack Triple H, then come back and brutally attack Triple H's lover, and still have the balls to face the enraged man in a match that was sure to be more violent than anything that has transpired between them thus far.

Of course, those who looked at Lesnar in awe and fear had no idea how little he feared Hunter. He wasn't anything like the average wrestler; and the WWE needed to understand that.

Starting with the powers that rule the place.

"Game over, Triple H."

* * *

Shawn Michaels was heavily sedated as the doctors stood over him and set his badly broken arm. He had no idea what they were saying through the fog of pain and medication, but he occasionally caught a few words—_bad, couple weeks, keep pressure off_—and vaguely understood that he wouldn't be able to even drive for a while, much less be there for Hunter on Sunday.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered brokenly, a few tears beginning to fall from his eyes, pooling at the side of his face as he lay very still on the table.

Now _he_ was in the unenviable position of worrying about what Brock would do to Hunter, forced to sit on the side and just watch.

Shawn didn't have to imagine the pain that Hunter must have felt watching him get beaten up by Brock tonight because he was pretty sure that he was feeling that same emotion right now.

'Any pain but this!'

"Please, keep your head on straight," Shawn whispered, confusing the doctor who stood nearest his head. "Don't get too mad. Please forgive me..."

A nurse quickly injected him with some more pain-killing serum, and Shawn began to fall in an unnatural sleep. He was thankful for the oncoming oblivion, but it did nothing to quiet his aching heart.

Before his eyes closed on their own, he was whispering a single sentence, over and over.

"I'm sorry I can't protect you."

* * *

The arena had emptied long ago of the fans and entertainers, yet one man still remained.

After all, he couldn't bear right now to go to the hospital with the man he loved, the man he had vowed to protect for the rest of his life.

The man he had so utterly failed tonight.

Triple H paced back and forth, having only within the last few minutes regained the clarity of mind to put his shirt back on after having ripped it off in a blind rage.

"This was personal before," he whispered aloud. "But now..."

His mind was still a torrent of emotions, ranging from burning anger to intense sorrow. But he had dried his eyes, and the hot tears no longer clouded the laser-guided focus that earned him the nickname "Cerebral Assassin" in the first place.

'Lesnar better show up on Sunday,' he thought, continuing to pace, occasionally punching a wall, a table, or any object that happened to be in his way. 'He'd better bring everything he has, because I'm going to fucking kill him in front of the world, and I want him to know that his best isn't enough when someone messes with my family.'

Hunter ran a hand through his long hair, eventually wrapping it into a tight ponytail. He had to go home; he had to pack some of Shawn's things and bring them to him. He didn't know how long the man needed to stay in the hospital, but he hoped that it wouldn't be for too long...

Because, deep down inside, he still knew that he needed Shawn in his corner this coming Sunday.

Pushing any thoughts of losing aside, Triple H's honey brown eyes hardened as his fists clenched tightly.

"Payback's a bitch, Lesnar," he growled, mouth set in a snarl. "And now, your ass is _mine_."

This was about so much more than proving who the better man was, and, in a moment of reflection, Hunter realized that, for Brock, it had probably never been about that anyway.

It was about one man beating down another man, and doing everything in his power to break him—in every way possible.

This was a blood feud, and Lesnar had made the fatal mistake of spilling _Shawn's_ blood, of mixing the Heartbreak Kid into what should have been between two rivals.

As far as Triple H was concerned, Brock Lesnar was as good as dead come Sunday.

"I'll see you at Summerslam."

* * *

_Poor Shawn! As LC Hime and I were talking about after Raw, there were sooooo many feels! Haha, it was almost overwhelming! I hope my own emotions didn't make this chapter suck. ;) _

_I guess we'll see what happens at Summerslam..._

_Review?_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Too many feels...Hunter...We love you so much...Well, my Muses are all in a tizzy now! I think I know how I'm going to end this story, though, so we're good..._

_And if Hunter is really and truly done, you can bet your bottom dollar that there will be a one-shot in his honor coming up soon! _

* * *

_Summerslam_

Even the searing pain running through his arm wasn't enough to drown out the agony in Triple H's heart.

He lay on the mat for a long time, cursing everything and everyone, yelling at the medics to leave him alone, even though he knew that his arm had, once again, been broken.

The match had been brutal, as much as he had expected it to be. He and Lesnar had started hard, right out of the gate, and both men knew well that they couldn't keep up the frantic pace without someone getting seriously hurt.

What he _hadn't_ expected was to get caught in the deadly Kimura Lock _again_, nor did he expect to have his arm broken in the _exact same spot as before_, forcing him to tap out before he passed out from the agony.

The break itself was as bad as the knowledge that he had so thoroughly lost the match.

Hunter was in a daze of pain and sorrow as he at last rose to his feet, looking out at the crowd, and then up at the sky, heart and mind on Shawn Michaels.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, shaking his head. "I'm sorry." With his one good arm, he brushed away a line of tears.

He had lost the match; Brock Lesnar had bested him, fair and square in the middle of the ring; and, worst of all, he had failed to get vengeance for Shawn.

Shawn, whom he couldn't bear to face now, if ever again.

"I'm so, so sorry," Triple H said over and over as he dragged himself from the ring and limped up the ramp, holding his injured arm tightly, struggling not to cry in front of the fans.

'I let them down too,' he thought, looking out at the many faces in the crowd, many of which were applauding him despite his loss.

His heart was broken, however, and for the first time in his life, he truly felt..._spent_.

As he back looked at the ring, and then down at his twisted arm, Hunter didn't feel any desire for revenge, or even a burning rage, or sorrow.

He was just tired.

He apologized to the fans once more. They seemed sad. He dared not imagine Shawn's reaction, a part of him glad that the man he loved was so very far away.

"Shawn..."

If he had failed Shawn so utterly in these past few weeks, what other unpleasant failures awaited him in the near future? For a moment, the rest of his career seemed to stretch out before him like a blank canvas; a canvas that quickly filled up with a series of losses, of more broken bones, of more disappointed fans.

Triple H had vowed long ago that there was no way in Hell he'd let it come to that. And if it had...

"I'm done."

* * *

Even though one arm was wrapped tightly in a sling, Shawn Michaels managed to dial Triple H's number, a task made even more difficult because of the blur of his tears.

"Hunter!" he gasped, when the other man picked up. "Oh my God! Are you okay?!"

The voice that answered him was very quiet. "I'm alright Shawn. I'm so sorry..."

HBK's jaw dropped. "What? You're sorry? For what? Hunter-"

"I can't talk now, Shawn, I have to go to the hospital—"

"Oh my God."

"...But...I'm sorry I let you down. Again." An uncharacteristic sigh. "I don't think I can do this anymore..."

Shawn wanted to reach through the phone and embrace Hunter, to somehow comfort the man who now seemed so resigned. He could very well imagine how he felt, and knew that it was a terrible, terrible feeling.

He wanted to be with him so much right now!

"Hunter, you listen to me," he began firmly. "I have to tell you—"

"Sorry, Shawn, I gotta go."

_Click_

Shawn was, for a full moment, _furious_. However, his anger quickly faded into a deep and troubled sadness, knowing that Hunter was sorting through a lot of feelings on his own...

"This...this is my fault," HBK whispered, slumping in his seat. "I...I have to make this right, somehow..."

Shawn knew how hard it was to reach Hunter once the man had decided to be alone and shut him out.

However, he also knew that there was a way to reach the Game no matter where he was.

* * *

_Monday Night Raw, 8:30pm_

"The new King of Kings, huh?"

Brock Lesnar sat alone in the locker room, wanting only the company of his thoughts for the moment.

Paul Heyman had just declared Brock to be the new Big Dog in the yard. By beating Triple H so soundly, by breaking his arm _twice_, and crushing the Cerebral Assassin's spirit, he had more than earned the title.

However, after the pleasure and thrill of the match had faded, Lesnar felt a strange sense of emptiness. He had accomplished his goal of being labeled he biggest, the baddest, the most vicious, the one to be feared...and yet...

With a growing sense of dread, Brock was slowly coming to the realization that he had deceived not only the WWE Universe, but also Shawn Michaels, Triple H, and _himself_.

He had told the masses that this was about being the best, about proving himself against the current Lord of the WWE. What better way to hurt the King of Kings than to throw him from his lofty throne and take his crown?

And, truly, that _had_ been Brock's intention. But once Shawn Michaels had gotten involved, it became even _more_ about torment, about torturing Triple H in the best way he knew how: by hurting the one he loved. He wanted to see the COO squirm, and scream, and cry out for Shawn as Brock broke the small man's body.

However, once all _that_ was done, once Lesnar had drunk his fill of Triple H's pain and tears, he realized that there was something else he yet desired.

In all of this, the one thing he wanted most was not Triple H's title, or Triple H's power, or Triple H's suffering.

What he wanted was _Triple H_.

Now, however, with the Game seemingly over, Brock felt a crushing sense of emptiness. Had he gone too far, and squeezed the life out of the very toy he wanted to play with for the rest of his life?

With a sigh, he called Paul Heyman on his cell phone.

"I...I think I might be done here."

* * *

_Monday Night Raw, 10:00pm, One Day After Summerslam_

"What am I feeling right now?"

Shawn frowned slightly as he considered his answer to Michael Cole's question, staring into the camera as the glare of the bright lights forced him to squint.

All of the tech stuff had been set up, and his live interview on RAW was being conducted from his home, as the WWE was more than happy to get the Heartbreak Kid's opinion of Triple H's situation. They all knew of the close relationship between the two men.

And, of course, Shawn knew that he could use that to his advantage, in order to force the man he loved to hear him, and understand.

"I'm feeling like I think I know what's going through Triple H's head right now."

Though it was in front of thousands—millions—of people, Shawn knew that this was the best way to force Hunter to listen to him.

Because there was something he simply had to tell him, something that he suspected the Game, the Cerebral Assassin, the King of Kings, needed to hear.

"You know, you can tell yourself that the end is near, and prepare yourself for it. You can do everything that everybody 'says' you should do. But there's really nothing...nothing that prepares you for that day, when, WHAM! It hits you right in the face. Because in all the thoughts you've given it, it always sort of happens silently, and privately, and on your own. When in reality, it happens in front of thousands of people, and millions on pay-per-view...

"And that's the humbling part of it."

Shawn inhaled deeply, the memories of his "moment" fresh in his mind, and close to his heart. He forced himself to keep it together, for Hunter's sake, but even now could not stop a tremor from coming into his strong voice.

"You can't prepare yourself for that.

"You can't prepare yourself to face your own professional mortality. You can talk about it all day long..."

With a small, sad smile, Shawn looked into the camera, knowing that, somewhere, Hunter was seeing this, and, hopefully, listening.

"I know how he's feeling."

The Heartbreak Kid thought over everything, the sadness of the situation overwhelming him. He was torn; and he knew that if _he_ was in agony, Hunter's must have been at least twice as bad. The two of them had, by accident or design, reached a crucial point in Triple H's life. And while there were parts of this that they'd have to face together...some parts the Game would have to face alone.

And that's what was tearing Shawn's heart out.

"I think what we saw last night could very well be the end of an amazing career. Triple H is a warrior..." Again, his voice wavered, but Shawn pressed on. "He always has been. He's a man of honor, he's a man of integrity...Something that a man like Brock Lesnar, or Paul Heyman would know absolutely nothing about."

The tears that ever threatened to fall hovered right on the edge of Shawn deep blue eyes.

"He went out there every night," he continued, voice breaking. "And gave it everything he had. Last night was no exception. He left every ounce of his being in that ring; last night, and every night prior. Because that's who the Game is."

With a sigh, Shawn began to address his words more to Hunter directly, wanting to apologize in public, just as the Game had after his match.

"You know, the last couple weeks, I came around because...I wanted to support my friend. As I look back on that now, I realize how...how _stupid_ that was. I became a distraction, more than anything else, another burden on the shoulders of Triple H."

It hurt the proud Showstopper to admit it, but, as far as he was concerned, it was the absolute truth. In seeking to help Hunter, he had instead only gotten in the way, obscuring the man's focus and throwing off his concentration...

Had it always been like this? The question was driving him mad.

"Who knows? Had I been there in his corner last night, maybe...maybe it would have been different. Maybe it wouldn't have made any difference at all. I do know this though: Last week I told Triple H that he knew where my heart was. The fact is...I didn't tell him the truth. And that's what he needed to hear. He needed to hear me say that I didn't think he could beat Brock Lesnar."

Shawn's voice broke right along with his heart at the blunt admission. It was all hard, but it had to be said, because Hunter needed to _know_.

"It isn't easy to look your friend in the eye...Someone who's been there for you through thick and thin...and tell him that you think that it's over for him. That maybe...time has run its course."

He needed to know how Shawn felt, regardless of whether he won or lost, whether he retired or continued, whether he succeeded or failed.

And now, when Shawn looked up again into the camera, the tears he had been so painfully holding back were falling freely, sliding slowly down the sides of his face as he took a broken breath.

"Hunter, I want you to know this: You have _nothing_ to be ashamed of. You are one of the greatest, one of greatest Superstars to ever live."

Shawn meant every word, and he knew that Hunter knew this. Still, there was one more thing that needed to be said, and, as Shawn looked into the camera, he wanted to convey to Hunter all of his feelings, and the fact that, if nothing else was true, this was:

"I've always respected you, and I've always been proud of you...And I..._I've always loved you."_

There was a small pause as the words rang out in the arena, in the ears of everyone in attendance, in the minds of everyone watching, and in the heart of the man they were directed to.

"We all love you," Shawn concluded, tears still flowing. "On behalf of myself...and the entire WWE Universe...Thank you for a job well done."

* * *

Though there were tears in his eyes to match Shawn's, Hunter managed a small smile, and nodded.

"I hear you, Shawn, I hear you," he whispered softly. "And I love you, too." He sighed as he sat back in his chair.

He had an important decision to make.

Unfortunately for Hunter, he had no idea how to make it.

* * *

_So sad. :( One more chapter to go...Should be up soon! _

_Review?_


	5. Chapter 5

_Monday Night, One Week After Summerslam_

Hunter Hearst Helmsley was still wiping away the last of his tears when he finally climbed into his car, physically (but not mentally) prepared for the long drive back home. His long blond hair was tied back in a hasty ponytail, and his eyes, their brown hues darkened with sadness, were downcast.

A plane, of course, would have been much faster, and a helpful backstage worker even suggested that he take the private jet home. After Summerslam, he had been taken to a hospital much closer to his home than his arena, to see the same doctor who had tended to his broken arm before. By plane, it would have only take 2 hours to be home and it bed.

Tonight, however, he wanted to drive. He _had_ to drive. He needed the time alone on the open road to clear his head. Too many questions, too many uncertainties, too much fog.

_All right, dammit, let's cut to the chase here. Everyone wants to know whether I'm going to retire, right?_

He had poured out his heart in the middle of that ring, in front of the whole world. Truthfully, he really didn't know what to say until he went out there—and even then, his words were riddled with the same damn questions that plagued him even now.

_That's one thing I learned about the WWE...Never say never, right?_

What was he supposed to do with the way things turned out? Where was he going to go now? What was he going to _do_?

It was torture, not knowing, and he imagined that a thousand men and women before him had felt this...emptiness. Perhaps...even _him_...

_...Everybody comes...to a crossroad..._

The thought of not being good enough anymore terrified him. It broke his heart and placed a tremor in his normally steady voice.

Could he really walk away? Hunter had spent most of his adult life on the road, in the ring, living in the professional wrestling world.

Even though he was the COO now, his soul was in that ring, beating people up, and getting beaten up on a daily basis. He didn't quite know how to live his life otherwise.

What did one do after retirement?

"Shawn..."

_You gotta ask yourself, when you get to that crossroad...Is it time?_

As he sped down the empty, early-morning roads, Hunter's thoughts naturally turned to the Heartbreak Kid Shawn Michaels.

He hadn't been able to face the man ever since his arm got broken at Lesnar's hands; and he was certain that he couldn't face him _now_, after admitting publicly that he wasn't sure of his future.

Still, in his heart, Hunter was certain that he needed Shawn's help, Shawn's guidance.

Right now, he needed _Shawn_.

_Time is the one thing that you cannot fight. Time will win. _

Hunter found himself automatically and unconsciously echoing Shawn's words. The older man was right. He was almost always right, somehow.

"I'm sorry Shawn," Triple H whispered, rolling down his window and letting the cool air blow into his face and clear his mind.

"I don't know what to do...I'm not strong like you..."

_I never wanted to be the guy who was just...hanging out. I never wanted to be the guy who hung on too long, who was just waiting for the nostalgia pop...I never wanted to hang on too long._

The Heartbreak Kid had always been the stronger of the two of them, Hunter often told others, and believed firmly. Shawn could break a limb, get beaten to a pulp, and then drag himself back to the ring to avenge himself. He had done it a million times; and when he finally _did_ walk away, it was on _his_ own terms, after fighting one of the best in the business.

Shawn Michaels was the master of his own destiny, and executed his plans perfectly.

Compared to that resolve, that determination, Hunter felt like a lost puppy.

_I never wanted to be the punch drunk fighter that couldn't have a life when this was over._

"I need your help, Shawn," he prayed softly, eyes glancing up at the quickly-fading stars. "I need you here with me, to help me make this choice..."

After all the Showstopper had been through these past few weeks, though, Hunter didn't have the heart to ask him for _anything_, much less help making a major life decision.

_That being said...I now find myself at that crossroad. And Brock Lesnar has made me ask the question: "Am I done?"_

The miles continued to pass swiftly and silently as Hunter's mind replayed the highs and lows of his long wrestling career.

For most of it, Shawn was a significant part, if not _the_ main factor. Triple H joked sometimes that his life was really just a part of Shawn's—as though Shawn Michaels was the main character, and Hunter Hearst Helmsley the support for that character.

And then there was suddenly a long span of time when, after Shawn's horrible back injury, Hunter came to realize that he had to continue his own story—alone this time. It was a dark time for him, one of great personal growth combined with a deep-seated bitterness.

He learned during that time that he could survive, and even thrive without Shawn.

But without the Heartbreak Kid, Hunter could never truly live.

That was all in the past, however. They had fought their battles and made their peace. Shawn had retired, and was happy...Now the only story left to tell was Hunter's own.

How in the world was it going to finally end?

And was he really going to have to do this on his own?

_Well the answer is...I don't know. I'm beat up. I'm probably more tired than I've ever been in my life. I'm broken...again..._

The Game sighed, fully feeling the tiredness that had crept upon him at Summerslam once again. He hadn't expected that night to be so _important_...and yet, somehow, it ended up being a turning point in his life.

He had gone in for a match, for revenge, with something to prove. But, when he left, he was full of regrets, and questions, and, worst of all, a nagging sense that he would have beaten Brock and avenged Shawn easily..._ten years ago_.

"I hate shit like this."

_You know, what I want to do, is I want to come out in this ring, and I wanna be the Cerebral Assassin, the King of Kings, the Game...I wannabe Triple H and tell you that I'm going to rise up again,and I am going to kick Brock Lesnar's ass!_

_ Because that is what I do!_

In Hunter's heart, a fire still burned, one that he knew would never go out. With every fiber of his being, he wanted to take on Brock Lesnar, beat him and hurt him just as he had beaten and hurt Shawn. He wanted to teach the monstrous man a lesson he'd never, ever forget.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, an arm for an arm, and blood for blood.

_...That's what I wanna do...but I can't. And the truth is...It's because I don't know if I can._

_ Brock Lesnar has forced me to look inside myself and say, "Am I done?"_

Too many questions. Too many doubts. Never before had Hunter faced such a horrible, creeping, internal agony. He had wondered every moment since that night if this was a sign.

Maybe, he wondered, I am too old, too weak, not good enough...unable to protect...

_If I can't say that I can come back and beat Brock Lesnar, come back and be better than before...Maybe I've answered my own question._

Hunter felt not only tired, but _weak_.

And that was the worst of all. Because, in this line of work, the weak were not pitied—they were executed. Only the strong survived in the world of professional wrestling.

And God help you if you became weak and did not realize it.

_ What I can do while I'm out here...I can take a minute, and say to all of you...Thank you. Whether you love them or hate them, ever Superstar who walks down that ramp and climbs in this ring, and give their bodies, their health...blood, sweat, and tears...they do it all for one thing: For your entertainment. _

_ But when they're back there, behind the curtain, they question themselves and wonder if anyone cares._

Maybe this really was his goodbye. The signs seemed to point to it. From the feeling in his head, to the ones in his body, and the singular pain in his heart...

Maybe it was time.

And if it was, then the only thing left to do was say goodbye.

_And I can honestly say that...every time I've walked out that curtain, I've felt that you all have cared. And that's got me through all of it._

_ When I was exhausted from the road, when I was broken, when I was beat up, when I was crippled, when muscles were torn, when bones were broken..._

_ What got me through all of it was all of you._

_ And for that, I can honestly say thank you from the bottom of my heart._

_ Thank you for letting me play the Game._

With another long sigh, his thoughts still a jumbled, scattered mess, Triple H valiantly put his head down and continued to drive, determined to come to some sort of conclusion before he reached his home.

If nothing else, he knew that he had to make a decision, and that he had to do it alone.

_ I will never, ever forget each and every one of you. And, hopefully, if I succeeded at all...in some way..._

_ ...You'll never never forget me._

* * *

The Sun was just coming up as Hunter pulled into the driveway, the familiar sight of his house both comforting and disturbing. Under normal circumstances, coming home meant a nice rest after a long tour on the road. Now, however, it all held a sense of finality that made goosebumps rise all over his skin.

And, to make matters worse, he still hadn't made his decision yet.

He had gone back and forth during the entire drive home, mulling over all possibilities and at last coming to the conclusion that _he couldn't come to a conclusion_.

Feeling more annoyed than sorrowful at this point, Triple H angrily threw open the trunk of his car, growling as he dragged his bag out of it. It wasn't heavy, but with the broken arm, everything became more of a hassle.

After a few minutes of struggling, he managed to lift it out of the car, only to, seconds later, drop it on his foot.

"Ouch! Goddammit!" he swore, squinting in the morning's cheerful light as he looked down at the "damage." Thankfully, his hard shoes had taken most of the blow, but he was pretty sure his big toe was going to be swollen later.

"Fucking—"

"Whoa, language, Buddy!"

Triple H's blond head snapped up immediately, brown eyes wide at the sound of the familiar and unexpected voice.

Shawn Michaels was standing on the open porch, leaning casually against one of the posts, his blue eyes dancing with the Sun's rays.

Hunter could see the sky in those eyes.

"Shawn!" he gasped, forgetting his bag, and throbbing big toe, as he walked over to the older man. "What are you doing here?" He moved to embrace the Heartbreak Kid, but stopped short.

They were both sporting broken arms.

His guilt immediately returned full force, and Hunter's delight at seeing his best friend and lover quickly faded. As long as he wore his cast, and as long as Shawn wore his, he'd be reminded of his failures.

_Failure_...

"Aren't you wondering how I got here?" HBK asked, seeing the change in his best friend's eyes, and determined to stop him from going down that dark path again. He knew well the pain the younger man had to be in. Very well indeed.

"Let me guess...You took a plane alone again?" Hunter offered, managing a small smile. "We all know how well _that_ worked out last time...I'm surprised you got here in one piece."

Shawn threw his head back and laughed. "Alright, alright, you got me there." He made his way carefully down the short staircase, walking over to Hunter and standing in front of him.

"And here's why I flew from Texas to Connecticut at some ungodly early hour."

With his one good arm, Shawn reached up and gently pulled Hunter's head down, embracing the bigger man so that his head rested against the Heartbreak Kid's chest.

"I love you," he said softly, placing a light kiss on the Game's forehead. "I love you more than I can ever say—even in front of the whole world. I'm always proud of you, no matter what choice you make." He took a step back, smiling at the confused look in Hunter's eyes as he straightened.

"And when you _do_ decide to hang it up for good—whenever that will be—I promise you that I'll be here for you to come home to. Now, and forever." The Heartbreak Kid blinked away a few tears.

"Because I need you, too."

Hunter, for a long time, could only stand there and stare at Shawn. A thousand thoughts were running through his mind, and now, they were no longer of failure and confusion.

When he could speak again, Hunter's voice was rough, and his tears freely fell as he smiled.

He knew, in that moment, that whatever happened, things would turn out okay in the end. Whether he choose to stay or go, hang up the boots or give 'em one last good run...It would all be okay.

Because Shawn would be there.

And if Shawn was by his side, no matter what, Triple H knew that there was nothing to fear...not even the end.

"I love you, and I can't do anything without you," he said in a rush. "I really mean that, Shawn."

HBK smiled brightly at the man he loved. There was much to be said, and many things to be discussed. Both of their lives would be impacted by whatever decision Hunter made. There might even be some revenge to plan.

For now, however, there was only the morning, shining down on the two men whose futures were as bright as the lone star above them.

"I guess we need each other, huh?" HBK offered, nodding towards the house. "So, how about I whip us up some breakfast, and we get you to bed. You look exhausted from all the driving..."

Triple H shook his head, in amazement of the whole situation. Just standing here with Shawn felt so good and right...The rest of the world fell away when he was with the Heartbreak Kid.

"Thank you, Shawn," was all Hunter managed before falling into another one-armed embrace.

Though he could only hope and pray that the fans wouldn't forget him, he was happy to have found someone who remember him forever.

Still smiling, Shawn shook his head, keeping his good arm tight around Hunter's strong form. The younger blond had a lot of healing to do, but, as far as Shawn was concerned, the thing he needed to know most right was that his sacrifices are always worth something.

His destiny remains unwritten, but his life is certainly not in vain.

"Don't thank me...Thank _you_, Hunter."

* * *

_The End!_

_I really didn't expect Summerslam to be such an important match, so I'm kinda glad I wrote this story, because if Hunter has truly left the building, I bid him a warm and fond farewell, and a sincere thank you. _

_Far from forgetting you, I—we—will **always** remember you. The King of Kings, the Cerebral Assassin, the Game, has forever made his mark on the world of professional wrestling._

_We love you, Hunter! Thank you!_

_Review?_


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